Revisiting Sholay after fifty years feels like meeting an old friend after ages—familiar, comforting, and yet thrilling in unexpected wa...
Revisiting Sholay after fifty years feels like
meeting an old friend after ages—familiar, comforting, and yet thrilling in
unexpected ways. It brings back shared memories and washes over you with
nostalgia, that fuzzy warmth mixed with the excitement of rediscovery. I was
six years old when I first saw Sholay, and even at that tender age certain
moments etched themselves into my mind: Veeru sitting on Jai’s shoulders at the
end of Yeh Dosti, harmonica in hand; the affectionate ruffling of Jai’s hair;
simple gestures that beautifully captured an unbreakable bond.
Other images remain just as vivid—the quiet romance
of Jai watching Radha turn out the evening lamps against the setting sun, her
silence speaking volumes; the heartbreak when Jai dies saving his friend and
the woman he loves. Watching the film again half a century later, the emotions
returned with even greater force. The tears flowed again at Jai’s death, the
smile reappeared with Yeh Dosti, and the tenderness of the Jai–Radha moments
felt even more profound.
Seeing Sholay on the big screen in a 4K restored
print with Dolby surround sound was a cinematic dream. The thrill of GP Sippy
Presents appearing on screen, Dharmendra’s name sending a shiver down the
spine, and R.D. Burman’s Ennio Morricone–inspired score setting the mood
reminded one why this film is truly epic.
As a cinematic experience, the Sholay: Final Cut is
a mixed bag. While the emotional highs remain unmatched, the colour restoration
feels slightly overdone—too bright, too clean. The sound, despite its clarity,
seems to lack some of the raw impact of the original score. The extended scenes
add context—Ahmed’s death, Ramlal forging the nail-spiked shoes, longer action
sequences (Basanti being chased by Gabbar’s men and also Veeru’s action scenes
after Jai’s death) —and mostly work, though some subtlety is lost (personally I
liked the symbolic depiction of Ahmed’s death more). There is also,
interestingly, a completely different edit of the entire climax song Jab Tak
Hai Jaan, which makes for refreshing watch. The altered climax, with Thakur
killing Gabbar, finally restores the film’s emotional core: Thakur breaking
down, Veeru comforting him, vengeance giving way to grief and that sense of
emptiness.
Walking out of the theatre—three times in one week-- different theatres—the experience felt more complete and deeply satisfying. It is remarkable that a fifty-year-old film, watched countless times, can still move us so profoundly. As Gabbar famously says, “Bahut yaarana lagta hai.” Indeed.
By Pratik Majumdar (author: Love Coffee Murder & 1975 The Year That Transformed Bollywood)
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